


under siege by planet jupiter

by friendlyghost



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cover band, Alternate Universe - No Goddard Futuristics, Daniel Jacobi & Alana Maxwell - Freeform, M/M, Social Media, W359RBB, everyone's still a douchebag tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 01:03:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14706185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendlyghost/pseuds/friendlyghost
Summary: Meeting people at bars? Fairly common. Finding the guitarist of a random cover band really hot, then having him stalk you on the internet and developing a relationship anyways? Everyone's been there.The one where Kepler's in a band, Jacobi blows things up for money, and neither of them fall in love like normal people. Written for the 2018 Wolf 359 Reverse Bang.





	under siege by planet jupiter

**Author's Note:**

> This is a running-late labor of love for the Wolf 359 Reverse Bang! I had the lovely [oreo-milkshakes/bluepotato78](https://oreo-milkshakes.tumblr.com/) as my artist, and I had a blast writing this ridiculous fic about her art. (See the tumblr post [here](https://oreo-milkshakes.tumblr.com/post/174053744397/my-piece-for-the-wolf-359-reverse-big-bang-i)). I'm very grateful to her as well as the mods of the event for being ridiculously awesome people and working extremely hard to keep it organized and on time.
> 
> Participating in the RBB has been a privilege and a blessing, and I recommend that you take a look at all the other excellent fics and art as well. Hope you enjoy the fic!

“Remind me again why we’re here?” Jacobi asks, watching some techies do a sound check. They’re not doing a bad job for people who probably don’t know what a subwoofer is, but he’s judging them anyways. Also, what kind of bar has its own sound people?

On second thought, that kind of makes sense if the bar has live music five nights a week, which this one claims to. 

Live music.

Jacobi drinks some more beer. 

“I told you, you’ve been all sad since your breakup with Klein and blowing things up hasn’t helped so we’re participating in society for a night!” Alana says.

“Neither of us _like_ participating in society,” Jacobi says. 

“The goal is to make you so upset that you stop being sad about the breakup.”

“Oh in that case, you’re doing great,” Jacobi says. 

“Thank you! I am also not having a great time but all’s fair in love and war, I suppose!” Alana says. She downs more of her terrifyingly bright cocktail. Jacobi isn’t sure what’s in it and also doesn’t want to know, because it’s probably radioactive.

Jacobi raises his beer in a toast. “Yeah, well, let’s go ahead and leave if the band sucks. I will get to blow more stuff up and you will get to work your little pet project.”

“Oh please, you know I don’t code drunk,” Alana says, waving her drink around.

“Maybe if you did you’d finally get that AI working,” Jacobi mutters. 

Alana doesn’t even blink before saying, “Maybe if you made a bomb while drunk you’d blow your dick off and you wouldn’t need to worry about this breakup anymore.”

Jacobi considers this for a moment.

He also has some more beer.

“You know what, I’m not even going to try to come back to that,” he says. “I know when I’m beat.”

Alana says something, but Jacobi doesn’t hear over the _screech_ from the speakers. He _knew_ those sound guys messed something up. He _knew_ it.

“Hey everyone, we’re Questions Only, and we’re a...multi-genre cover band,” someone at a microphone says. Jacobi presumes that this man is the frontman, if not the lead singer.

“So, you won’t be subjected to too many bad original songs tonight,” the man continues. There’s some awkward laughter from the crowd. Jacobi decides to be grateful for small mercies.

And with that, the band launches into their first song, a halfway decent cover of something by Sublime. The lead singer’s voice isn’t _bad_ , per se; it’s just not good enough for Jacobi to admit he’s enjoying himself. He will, however, admit that it’s slightly better than tolerable.

Jacobi’s gaze falls to right as the band continues singing about doing things the wrong way.

Jacobi proceeds to choke on his beer. He leans over to Alana and says, “Oh my _god_ look at the guitarist.”

Alana says something about being glad she dragged him out tonight, but Jacobi is too busy staring at the most beautiful man he’s ever seen in his entire life. If he’s being honest with himself, then he’s drunk-watched enough _Grey’s Anatomy_ to say that the guy looks like a slightly darker-skinned rocker version of Jesse Williams. If Jacobi isn’t being honest with himself, then that’s the most beautiful man he’s ever seen in his entire life and Alana is entirely responsible for any episodes of soap opera hospital shows he may or may not have seen. 

Jacobi’s not that good at lying to himself, however, so he’ll happily admit that _Grey’s Anatomy_ is excellent to watch while drunk, he thinks Jesse Williams is sexy as all hell, and that the way the man’s hands are moving on the guitar is driving him crazy. 

He’s absolutely entranced as he watches the rest of the band’s set. They play another thirteen or fourteen songs, but Jacobi couldn’t tell you what any of them were—something by the Red Hot Chili Peppers or Nirvana, maybe? He’s never pretended to be an expert on weird 90s music. All of his attention is focused on the guitarist. His hands, the skin peeking out from the v-neck of his shirt, the bright blue eyes that Jacobi catches glimpses of every time he looks up from his guitar. 

By this point, he’s had another beer and two cocktails Alana ordered for him. He’s done caring about whether or not the man catches him staring. Jacobi’s just happy to sit there and watch a beautiful man play guitar and fend off Alana’s constant, increasingly alcohol-fueled, teasing. She’s had as much as he has, if not more, because she can actually hold her alcohol. Jacobi gave up tracking what she drinks several years ago. It’s not worth it. Especially when he could spend his time staring at a ridiculously beautiful man instead.

When their set ends, Jacobi motions to the bartender and pulls out his wallet.

“But—but don’t you wanna talk to your guitarman?” Alana asks. She’s at the point of drunkenness where she’s unashamedly leaning on Jacobi, arms wrapped around his shoulders. Either that, or she’s intentionally trying to fuck with him. Both are likely.

Jacobi sighs. “I want to talk to him as much as I ever want to talk to anyone who’s not you. Maybe a little more. But I’m a little drunk and I’m terrible at hitting on people even when I’m sober. So no, I don’t want to talk to my guitarman. 

Alana pouts. Jacobi ignores her and finishes paying his tab.

“I’m going to go outside and call us an Uber, head out when you finish up in here, okay?” he says, disentangling himself from Alana. He heads outside and pulls out his phone, leaning against the wall of the bar and wishing he wasn’t a goddamn coward when it came to everything except blowing himself up. 

Alana comes outside just as their driver pulls up, looking inordinately pleased with herself.

“What has you looking so happy?” Jacobi asks.

“Oh! I managed to flirt the bartender into giving me a free drink, that’s all,” Alana lies breezily. Her ability to lie aside, they’ve known each other for years and he can guarantee that Alana can’t flirt her way out of a paper bag.

“Really? You, flirting? Well enough to get a free drink?”

“Yup! Miracles do happen, I suppose,” Alana says.

“Just get in the goddamn Uber,” Jacobi says. The drive home is fairly uneventful; none of them talk much in the car. They get out, he manages to unlock their apartment and stop Alana from trying to make toast, and puts them both to bed. He’s tempted to pull out Alana’s laptop and set it in front of her, because he knows that she won’t be able to stop herself from coding if he does, but he decides he’s not that much of an asshole. Probably.

—

This is what happened when Jacobi went outside to call the Uber:

—

Warren Kepler puts his guitar away and watches as the hot guy at the bar who was staring at him the whole night turns to pay the bartender, the lady he’s with draped all over him. Shit. He heads off the stage and towards the bar, but by the time he makes it over the man’s gone outside.

But his girlfriend(?)’s still there.

Kepler taps her on the shoulder. “Excuse me, but—” he says, as she cuts in with, “Guitarman!”

“Guitarman?” Kepler asks. She doesn’t look that crazy, excluding the hair, and the glasses, and the shirt that’s half off her shoulder and isn’t actually supposed to be…or maybe she does look crazy. Call a duck a duck.

“Yup! You’re Daniel’s guitarman. He spent the whole night staring at you, when he didn’t even want to go out, and then he didn’t even stay to talk to you,” she says.

He takes a moment to process this.

“My name is Warren Kepler,” he says. “Daniel is the man you were with? And you _aren’t_ dating?”

“Alana Maxwell, pleased to meet you,” she replies. “Jacobi and I are absolutely not dating, he prefers men and I prefer no one.”

“Wait, is his name Daniel or Jacobi?” Kepler asks. 

Alana Maxwell looks at him like he’s stupid. “His name is Daniel Jacobi, J-A-C-O-B-I, and most people call him Jacobi instead of Daniel.”

“I see,” he says. He thinks he does see. Lady’s definitely crazy, if she’s trying to wingman for someone who’s not even here. “If I pay your tab, will you give me his phone number?”

“If you pay half my tab I’ll send you a screenshot of his Facebook profile,” she offers.

Kepler pulls out his wallet.

—

The next morning, Jacobi wakes up and gets dressed and brushes his teeth. All of this happens in a perfectly normal way, at a perfectly normal time (8:30am). He doesn’t notice anything’s off until after he makes breakfast and pulls out his phone and opens the Facebook app.

 

> **Warren Kepler** has sent you a friend request (Confirm) (Reject) 

 

“The hell?” Jacobi mutters. They have zero mutual friends, and he doesn’t recognize the name at all, so it can’t be someone from work.

He clicks on the man’s profile. The photo is of a very familiar-looking Jesse Williams lookalike. 

Jacobi closes the app and reopens it.

The friend request is still there.

Jacobi considers deleting it, because the man has to be some kind of stalker. Alana wouldn’t hack someone’s phone to make them add him on Facebook. She’s not socially devious enough for that. Stalker is the only feasible solution.

Unless Alana ran into him in the bar last night after Jacobi left, but that’d just be ridiculous.

He sighs and selects **Confirm**. Immediately, a Messenger notification from Warren Kepler pops up. 

 

> **Warren Kepler:** Noticed you noticing me at The Skylark last night.
> 
> **Daniel Jacobi:** so what if i was?
> 
> **Warren Kepler’s nickname was set to “Stalker”**
> 
>   **Stalker:** Don’t be ridiculous. I spoke to your friend Alanna after you left and she told me your name. 
> 
> **Daniel Jacobi:** *alana
> 
> **Warren Kepler’s nickname was set to “Still A Stalker”**
> 
> **Still A Stalker:** That’s fair.
> 
>   **Still A Stalker:** So what do you do for a living?

 

Jacobi sighs and rubs his eyes. He wanders over to the coffee maker and turns it on, adding enough water and grounds for both him and Alana. 

 

> **Daniel Jacobi:** why are you even talking to me
> 
> **Still A Stalker:** Because I’m single, I’m assuming you’re single, and I like it when hot guys at bars stare at me.
> 
>   **Still A Stalker:** Or do you need me to break that down into smaller words?

 

Jacobi stares at his phone and decides to clean up breakfast instead of replying. He washes his dishes, finishes making coffee for him and Alana, and is pouring it into mugs just as she wanders into the kitchen.

“So, Alana. Meet anyone interesting in the bar last night?” he asks conversationally. His face wasn’t being conversational, but his tone was. That counts, right?

“I met a very nice man named Kepler who plays guitar in a cover band! He paid half my tab for a screenshot of your Facebook profile,” Alana says, reaching for her coffee.

Jacobi holds it out of her reach. “You’d pimp your best friend out for cheaper booze? I’m heartbroken, Alana.”

“Don’t be silly, I’d also pimp you out for computer parts,” she says. “Be grateful that I’m nice enough to play matchmaker!” She sits down at their tiny kitchen table (upgraded from a folding card table three weeks ago, they’re real adults now) and downs all of _his_ coffee in one go. She immediately opens her laptop and begins typing faster than his brain can process.

“I’m tricking you into coding drunk,” Jacobi informs her, and sits on the counter instead. He pulls out his phone to reply.

 

> **Daniel Jacobi:** currently an engineer/mechanic for boeing
> 
> **Daniel Jacobi:** before that, i was a ballistics specialist in the air force.
> 
> **Daniel Jacobi:** you?
> 
> **Daniel Jacobi:** or do you play in a shitty cover band for a living
> 
> **Still A Stalker:** I was Air Force as well, left due to a disagreement with my CO’s orders. 
> 
> **Still A Stalker:** Several consistent disagreements.
> 
> **Still A Stalker:** Now I’m in consulting. And a fairly decent cover band.
> 
> **Daniel Jacobi:** aww, were you feeling unappreciated? [sad face shedding a single tear emoji]
> 
> **Still A Stalker:** Yes, actually.
> 
> **Daniel Jacobi:** …you’re so weird
> 
> **Daniel Jacobi:** if weird now means arrogant and controlling, that is
> 
> **Still A Stalker liked your message “if weird now means…”**
> 
> **Still A Stalker:** You should come to another one of our gigs.
> 
> **Still A Stalker shared the page “Questions Only - Cover Band” with you.**
> 
> **Still A Stalker sent a photo.**

 

The photo is a list of dates and bar names. Jacobi recognizes the name of the place they’re playing at the Saturday after next; it’s somewhere nearby. He looks it up and wouldn’t you look at that, it’s within walking distance of their apartment. 

“You’re coming with me to a bar next next Saturday, because this is all your fault,” Jacobi tells Alana. 

She makes a “mhmm” noise without looking up from her laptop. 

“Alana. Bar, Saturday night, two weeks from now. We’re going,” Jacobi says.

She looks up this time. “Oh! Is this to see that band again?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Jacobi says. He salutes Alana with her own damn cup of coffee, and hops off the counter.

—

Thirteen days and eleven hours later:

 

> **Still A Stalker:** Picked out a song specifically for you tonight. See if you can figure out which one it is.

 

— 

Jacobi sighs and puts his phone away as he and Alana sit at the bar. It feels eerily similar to that first Saturday evening; the two of them, sitting at a bar, watching sound guys set up for a live band he’s not necessarily looking forward to. Flagging down the bartender, he orders a beer for himself and a radioactive cocktail for Alana. 

She looks at him sharply. “You never buy my drinks.”

“Tonight I am,” Jacobi says. “Consider it a thank you for helping me find this guy.”

“Well, if you say so,” Alana says, and tosses back the cocktail.

“…That wasn’t a shot,” Jacobi says, staring.

“It is if you’re buying!” Alana says. Since his goal is to get her drunk and trick her into coding, Jacobi can’t exactly argue that. But it’s still frightening and annoying. He sighs and orders her another. 

He’s halfway through his beer when the band comes on. The same guy introduces them and leads them into the first song. Mister Warren Kepler is still on guitar, and is still the hottest man Jacobi’s ever seen. Part of him had been hoping that he’d be less somehow be less attractive; he should’ve know that wasn’t going to happen. The set they play is pretty similar to the one from last time. It’s not like Jacobi knows enough 90s music to notice a difference. So far there’s nothing about any of the songs that would mark them out as sung for him. Nothing that screams “Daniel Jacobi,” or at least nothing he notices. He passes the majority of the set this way, listening for something unique and nursing his second beer and keeping Alana happy with lots of bright blue cocktails.

Towards the end of the set, the lead singer goes, “Alright, and now we’re gonna switch it up a bit. I’d like to introduce Warren Kepler, the founder of this band. He’s gonna sing one last song for you tonight.”

Jacobi raises his eyebrows and leans forward in his seat. There’s a smattering of polite applause as Warren Kepler passes his guitar off to the lead singer and steps forward to the mic. Alana actually _wolf-whistles_ , prompting Jacobi to shove his elbow into her side.

“I’m helping you! You’re whistling by proxy,” Alana says.

Jacobi frowns. His goal was to get her a little drunk, not completely wasted. “I think you’ve had enough,” he says, tugging her half-finished cocktail away and signaling the bartender for some water. In the midst of all this, he almost misses what Kepler says when he reaches the mic. 

“Hello everyone, happy to be here tonight. This is a different take on an old favorite; I would say I hope you enjoy it, but I already know you will,” he says, staring directly at Jacobi.

Jacobi attempts to drink some beer and chokes on it a little. 

“Why didn’t you warn me about his _voice_?” he asks, “What the _hell_ , Alana?”

“Payback’s a bitch,” she says, waving her water around. 

Jacobi shakes his head and refocuses on the stage where Kepler’s [beginning to sing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sb5aq5HcS1A). Jacobi’s still trying to figure out what “In Alabama he would swing a hammer” had to do with him (because what else could it be?) when Alana hits his arm excitedly. He shushes her and continues listening to the song, something about “He’s a runner, rebel and a stunner”? Why does the song sound so familiar?

“He changed the pronouns! He changed the pronouns, Daniel!” Alana stage-whispers. He looks at her blankly, prompting her to say “Dani California! He changed the pronouns!” _Oh_. Red Hot Chili Peppers. You get to know all the songs with anything close to your name in them at one point or another.

Also, Kepler? Can sing _really goddamn well_. And he looks sexy while doing it, too. Jacobi considers this extremely unfair, especially since Kepler keeps making eye contact with him. He deserves an award for not getting hard, in all honesty.

 They wrap up the song and the set to decently loud applause from the crowd. Jacobi manages to stop Alana from whistling for him again, but only just. Instead of immediately turning to pay their tab, he leans back on the bar and waits for Kepler to approach him. 

“So, what’d you think of the set?” Kepler says when he reaches the bar. No greeting, no nothing.

“No one’s called me Danny a day in my life,” Jacobi says in reply. Fair’s fair, right?

“I’ll take that under consideration, Daniel Jacobi,” Kepler says. He sticks out his hand. “Nice to officially meet you; you may call me either Warren or Kepler, I don’t particularly care which. 

Jacobi shakes the man’s hand. It’s large and warm and frankly, he’s into it. “Nice to meet officially meet you as well, Warren.”

There’s a lull in the conversation as Kepler orders an expensive Scotch. Jacobi raises his eyebrows at Alana, who just shrugs. They watch as Kepler drinks some of the Scotch, appearing to get entirely too much pleasure out of it.

“So,” Jacobi says. “What’s the story behind the name ‘Questions Only’?”

“It’s a highly entertaining road trip game in which you can only communicate in questions. You lose by using a sentence, and the winner is the final one to still be talking in only questions,” Kepler explains.

“That doesn’t sound highly entertaining,” Jacobi says.

“Did I say that it was entertaining to anyone except me?” Kepler says. Jacobi raises his beer in acknowledgement. 

Kepler appears to be waiting for something. Possibly for Jacobi to engage him in a game of Questions Only. But that’s not going to happen, and so the moment passes.

“So, tell me something about yourself, Jacobi,” Kepler says. “I’d like to get to know you better.”

Jacobi considers this for a moment.

“I have a pathological fear of ducks,” he reports. 

“Oh? Most people wouldn’t admit a phobia right off the bat, you know,” Kepler says.

“Most people don’t have a pathological fear of ducks,” Jacobi says. “I also like blowing things up, fancy cheese, and being a sarcastic asshole.”

“And you work in engineering for Boeing?” Kepler asks. “You’re a very interesting person, Jacobi.”

“If you want in my pants, you can just come out and ask,” Jacobi says.

“I prefer to take my time with these things,” Kepler replies. “I find that the anticipation adds something.”

“Good to know,” Jacobi says. He wishes that didn’t give him images of Kepler teasing him in bed, but what can you do. Best not to dwell. “So, Mister Kepler,” he says, a little mockingly, “what sort of consulting do you do?”

“The kind where I make enough money to keep me in good Scotch and whatever else I want,” Kepler says. “Including band equipment, which I should probably go help clean up.” He takes out his wallet to pay for the Scotch.  

As he pays, Kepler says, “We’re playing at The Skylark again this Tuesday night. I’ll see you there.”

“Excuse me? Am I a groupie or something now? Do you expect me to just follow you around to all your gigs?” Jacobi asks.

“Yes. I actually do expect that,” Kepler says. He nods to Alana. “I expect I’ll see you there as well. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a band to manage.” 

Jacobi watches in stunned silence as Kepler walks away. He’s not too shocked to not stare at Kepler’s ass, but it’s close. Also, he has a really great ass. 

“Daniel, I think you have finally met your match,” Alana says. “Now pay for my drinks and take me home.” 

Jacobi blinks, shaking his head. “Yes ma’am,” he says, a little belated. Apparently presumptuous and controlling is his thing. Who knew. 

—

The walk home is mostly uneventful; Alana is genuinely drunk-cuddly, but it’s nothing Jacobi hasn’t dealt with before. When they get home, he carefully settles Alana down at the kitchen table with some water and pulls out her laptop.

“Hey, Alana, you wanna write some code right now? You wanna work on your project?” he says.

“But I don’t want to code when I’m drunk,” she says, a little sadly.

“It’s okay, it’ll be fine,” Jacobi says, pushing the laptop towards her. “You’re so smart, Alana. You can do it, I promise.”  

Alana hesitates again. “I want a paper and pencil. I’m going to _write_ code,” she says, determined. 

Jacobi considers this; if Alana ruins her pet project because she genuinely worked on it while drunk, she would never forgive either of them. No justification of ends or means here. He gets up and retrieves a legal-pad style notebook, a mechanical pencil, and extra lead and erasers. “No real coding while drunk,” Jacobi says, setting them in front of her.

“Thank yoouuuuuuuu,” Alana says happily. She grabs the pencil and notebook and starts scribbling down computer code. Jacobi watches her for a few moments. He’s glad she’s not actually coding, surprisingly enough. Petty revenge isn’t worth ruining something his best friend has poured her heart and soul into. He silently retrieves a bottle of painkillers and puts them beside her water, and heads off to bed. 

—

Jacobi walks into the kitchen the next morning and stops dead. Alana is sitting at the table, still awake. The legal pad he gave her is completely filled with code; so is one of the others he had laying around. A third is on the table in front of Alana. She’s writing in it.

“What the _hell_?” he asks.

“Had a breakthrough,” Alana replies, not even looking up from what she’s doing.

Jacobi shakes his head. “Let me know if you need anything,” he says, and makes himself breakfast.

Jacobi spends the day doing paperwork for his job and messing around in Minecraft, keeping an eye on Alana while he does so. She finishes the third notebook around eleven in the morning and immediately gets up to make herself some coffee.

“Are you still drunk?” Jacobi asks.

Alana shakes her head, staring at the coffee maker intently. “Not anymore.”

Jacobi just shakes his head and goes back to his paperwork. He’s seen Alana zoned in like this before, where she mainlines coffee and Red Bull for seventy-two hours and codes for all of it. He’s learned that it’s better to help her through it instead of trying to stop her. True to form, she downs her coffee when it’s done and opens up her laptop. Jacobi watches as she pulls the first legal pad and begins to flip through. 

“What the hell was I thinking?” Alana mutters. “I don’t…OH! Wait I wrote this and connected it to that and…oh my god, Jacobi, I’m a genius.” 

“Happy for you,” Jacobi says. This is the first time one of Alana’s coding binges has been 100% his fault, however. He’s not sure how he feels about it. Oh well.

Around nine P.M., Jacobi decides he’s had enough. “Okay, up,” he says to Alana, tugging on her shoulder. “If you sleep and eat now, I’ll let you work all the way to Wednesday without making you rest.”

“No,” Alana says. “Almost done.”

“You’ll be almost done for another four days and it’s better if you sleep now,” Jacobi says. “You’re not nineteen anymore.”

Alana pushes her laptop away and rubs her eyes. She presses a few keys the laptop shuts down. “Fine,” she says, “But only because I was drinking last night and I haven’t slept since before then.” 

“Good girl,” Jacobi says, tugging her out of her seat. “Think you can manage a shower too?” 

“Don’t push your luck,” Alana replies. 

—

Tuesday afternoon:

 

> **Daniel Jacobi:** so i broke alana
> 
> **Still A Stalker:** Oh?
> 
> **Daniel Jacobi:** yeah she’s on a coding binge again, hasn’t slept since sunday night
> 
> **Daniel Jacobi:** so she’s bringing her laptop tonight and is probably going to be working on her project the entire time
> 
> **Still A Stalker:** I see.
> 
> **Still A Stalker:** Out of curiosity, what is this project?
> 
> **Daniel Jacobi:** she’s writing the first true artificial intelligence, like with a personality core and everything
> 
> **Still A Stalker:** And she’s smart enough to actually do that?
> 
> **Daniel Jacobi:** alana graduated from MIT when i finished my first year of grad school there, except she was 19 and i was 23. are you smart enough to talk to her?
> 
> **Still A Stalker:** Yes, probably. But I see your point.
> 
> **Still A Stalker:** I’ll see you both tonight. Watch out for another song, I think this one will suit you better.
> 
> **Daniel Jacobi:** see you then
> 
> **Daniel Jacobi:** and will do

 

—

That night, Jacobi drives them over to The Skylark. He can’t drink if he needs to babysit Alana, and it’s worth dealing with the parking if it means she can keep working on the drive there. He barely manages to pull her away from her laptop long enough to get her settled inside the bar and at a table. They make it inside just as the set is starting; Jacobi actually waves to Kepler as he settles down. Once again, _Questions Only_ ’s set is more ‘90s rock. Jacobi thinks he’s starting to recognize some of the songs. The one about “going the distance” sounds familiar, anyways. Alana doesn’t notice. She just keeps typing away. She’s going the distance, that’s for sure.

The lead singer has Kepler take over a few songs before the end of the set. He sings one about having a personal Jesus, which Jacobi doesn’t think is the one about him, and a Green Day song that very well could be. But then Kepler steps up close to the mic and says, “Well, we have one last song for you tonight, it’s been a pleasure. Hope you enjoy,” and the band launches into [something with an upbeat tune](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DhKHAopx7D0). They hit the chorus, singing “the boy’s a time bomb,” and Kepler fucking _winks_ at Jacobi.

Jacobi blinks for a minute, and then just starts laughing. It’s pretty much perfect.

Kepler wanders over to Jacobi and Alana once the set is over. “So, what’d you think of that one?” he asks.

Jacobi stands up; this close, it’s clear that he’s both slightly shorter and broader than Kepler. “I’m going to kiss you now,” he says. 

“In a public bar?” Kepler asks. 

“Do you want to wait until we’re alone? Or would you rather kiss me now?” Jacobi asks, stepping slightly closer.

In response, Kepler cups Jacobi’s face and kisses him. He’s a bit rough and a lot controlling, which is just the way Jacobi likes to be kissed. Gives him a chance to fight back. Kepler doesn’t quite give him the chance, but Jacobi makes the attempt anyways. And then he gives in and melts into the kiss, enjoying the sensation of Kepler’s warm mouth on his and the way their bodies feel pressed together. 

When they break apart, Kepler says, “That will have to do until we get somewhere private.” 

Jacobi shrugs. “Sounds fair to me.”

Alana _shrieks_ and Jacobi and Kepler both jumps. He’d half-forgotten she was there, honestly. Whoops.

“I did it, I think I actually did it,” she says, voice shaking. Her hair is crazier than usual and her glasses are askew, but her hands are steady as she shakes them out. 

“You did it? You built a fully-functioning AI?” Jacobi asks.

Alana nods. “Time to find out.” She presses a few keys and gasps. Jacobi and Kepler crowd around Alana’s laptop screen. It reads, “Hello? Who are you? Who am I?”

Alana chokes back a sob as she types, “Hello, Hera. My name is Alana Maxwell. It’s wonderful to meet you.”

 —

**fin**

 

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes:
> 
>   * This vaguely takes place in Tacoma, WA, but the Skylark is an actual bar in West Seattle (I was there once for a bellydance show and I know nothing else about it).
>   * A lot of the music mentioned is from the 90s, because that’s where I was at while writing this fic. A significant portion was written while listening to the Rancid album “…And Out Come the Wolves”, because seriously, Time Bomb is such a Jacobi song. (Also, there's one called Maxwell Murder!)
>   * I didn’t do enough research about literally anything to justify half the things I wrote so if something is wrong, chalk it up to laziness.
> 

> 
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